1. Friday, January 6, 2006

    dear raymi the minx, 

    im sorry i havent written you in a while. how are you. how was your new year. mine was good. i traveled the pacific northwest in an old car in the rain.

    it was so fun.

    last night i couldnt go to kitty bukkakes birthday party because the old lady was freaking out upstairs.

    shes 92 and i like her a lot and she doesnt want to abuse our relationship but who else can you call at 9pm when your fan has fallen over and youve convinced yourself that if you let it run all night on its side that your house will catch fire.

    it takes her a while to walk to the door.

    anyways last night i was helping her out and by the time i had finished everything which includes mailing her bills off, i was far too late for kittys birthday so i just sat on the couch all dressed up and fell asleep.

    all dressed up for me, of course means i changed shirts

    taking off the tsar shit

    putting on the gwar shirt.

    and i ate a peice of seven grain bread right out of the bag

    not because im poor or anything, but because i was too lazy to go and toast it or put some squeeze parkay on it.

    or squeeze grape jelly.

    i fell asleep watching the daily show and i had a dream which really makes me mad because i hate dreams.

    and when i awoke i heard the phone ringing. and it was the lady and i couldnt make out what she was saying but she didnt seem freaked out or crazed. so, and i hate this raymi for i feel you will think less of me, but i didnt listen closely to her message and i didnt even listen to the message, instead i found my way to my bed – which i still cant believe how soft it is thanks to the thousand dollar mattress – and fell asleep.

    so at six am this morning she calls again.

    raymi, she had falled over that night and wasnt able to get up. she had been on the floor the whole night crawling around! and when she had called last she was saying to come and help. to break a window if thats what it took.

    so there she was at 6am telling me she was still on the floor and i was all, why didnt you call 911? and she said, theyve already come over twice before in the past and they will try to get me sent to a nursing home.

    she doesnt want to go to a nursing home because of her cat. she loves her cat. hes pretty fat. seems happy.

    anyways here in america apparently you cant have your cat in your nursing home with you.

    and im telling you baby, i HAVE to get trump to go in on some nursing homes with me because this is exactly what ive been talking about: when youre old you should be able to go back to the dorms like you enjoyed in college.

    and at the end of the hall, instead of an RA should be a hot nurse to take care of your ass if you need some pills or some shit.

    i would start saving up NOW if i knew that it was going into paying for being able to go to a dorm nursing home during my last days.

    how expensive could it be to build cool towers, have nurses on every floor, and decorate it fun and have a good time with everyone.

    and its my belief that people would pay a fortune to be able to party instead of suffer during their sunset as they head to paradise.

    i liked the dorms, not because of the sex and drugs and good music, but because everyone was my basic age group doing pretty much exactly what i was doing. even then i knew that that would be the last time that i would be surrounded by so many total peers.

    therefore who better to hang out with when youre going through the scary lap that is the end of ones life?

    so at 6:15pm i found myself outside her front door looking for a nice pane of glass to smash into with my 20lb mini barbell. i use it to keep the guns toned. oh yeah. its hollywood, gotta be in good shape since everyone else is. pain in the ass.

    so i slammed the barbell into her front door and it sounded like a thud. nothing broke.

    and maybe its different for you, but i havent shaved in a week, and i was wearing a black Obey touque and a wool lined green flannel shirt and baggy green pants. and lets face it i look like a gangmember breaking into an old ladys house.

    so i called the direct line to the fire department and they told me to call 911 and that was pretty funny

    i said my 91 yr old neighbor has fallen down and cant get up and i cant get into the house.

    she said, ok, we will gain access to her apartment. now dont move her.

    i was all, i just told you, i cant get into the house. thats what i need you guys for, can you break in?

    three minutes later i heard sirens. seriously. these people were fast.

    four fire dudes and the captain pulled out a big knife and in one wallop into the lock he was in.

    he got in there faster than i get into my door with keys.

    another fireman put on rubber gloves, and they lifted her and sat her in her bed and they were out of there.

    true professionalism.

    i asked one of them if this happens alot in hollywood, and he said its the majority of their calls.

    now its 7:30am and i cant get back to sleep thinking how she was on the floor all night and i was in that soft bed. how is life fair?

    so ive been reading the Post Secret book that i was supposed to review for a very fancy magazine, but if im too lazy to toast bread, you can imagine how lazy ive been about getting back to people who want me to write for them.

    you know another book i loved that i was supposed to review but i didnt? Vurt. fucking love that book.

    anyways Post Secret is a really good, but sad book. its the best postcards that the blog Post Secret got. secrets.

    so i was thinking that finally i have a decent secret to give those guys.

    “i slept in bed as an old lady slept on the floor – because i didnt listen to my answering machine.”

    now i have to find a decent post card to put it on.

    but what will i do with the one i was gonna send to them:

    “i only had sex ten times last year.”

    tell fil im about to make him some money,


    raymi and paige are having a party and you should go